


I Would Do Anything For You

by gingeraleandchocolatecake



Series: anything you can do, i can do better [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, The Walking Dead AU, and shes deadly af, clarke has a sword, oh yeah zombie au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingeraleandchocolatecake/pseuds/gingeraleandchocolatecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want to look in the mirror and not hate the person looking back at me. She looks like sarcasm and rage and she looks like a bad person.</p><p>(Or the one where Bellamy and Clarke try to survive in a world meant to destroy them)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah enjoy, let me know idk have fun? don't cry too much i guess?

It’s a moral thing that makes her stop.

Her mother was a surgeon and was adamant that every life was important, that every life could be, should be, and would be saved if she had any say in it. No matter how hard it is, how long it takes and how difficult it is, _everyone_ deserves to be saved. _('Even the worst people on the planet?'_ Clarke would ask.) Her mother would take a sip of her coffee, smile wistfully like she knew a secret Clarke would never know and nod, _everyone._ She’d agree. (' _It’s difficult. Even if they don’t deserve to live by anyone’s standards, life is valuable. All life is valuable. Remember that.')_

She believes in saving lives and keeping a soul in that murderous heart of hers. She’s done bad things, she’s killed people she was once close to- but they weren’t people any more. She’s covered in blood all the time and no matter how hard she tries to wipe it off its stained her hands. And sometimes when she does a nice thing, she realises that she’s not _all_ bad. But then she remembers her mother and her father and she realised that she’s a monster; inside and out.

So it’s a moral thing that makes her stop.

She’s driving a long a reasonably empty road with high tree’s on either side of her that seem to be scratching at clouds of grey. The windshield is covered in grime and dirt and there’s blood smeared in the corners she can’t reach. She doesn’t really know where she’s going. She hasn’t found a camp for miles (not that she needs one) and she’s pretty sure that her plan to go to Virginia is fucked. (It wasn't much of a plan anyway.) She’s somewhere in Georgia, having narrowly avoided the ludicrously busy town centre she then got on the 85 in the direction of the pentagon with hopes of getting there alive (all doctors were called in to help). But then she stops.

It’s a moral thing, you see.

She turns a bend and notices a herd of Walkers on the side of the road, huddled around something. Probably an animal carcass. But when there’s a defiant scream and a few gunshots, Clarke realises there’s a girl in there. Clarke see’s her brown hair zapping around as she spins in intricate circles around the walkers to avoid a scratch, let alone a bite.  There are twenty, maybe thirty of them and the girl’s gun jams. She smashes it into one of the walkers faces but then her leg is pulled from under her and she collapses into the mud. Clarke pulls the car to a halt and without a second thought, jumps out.

She pulls the katana sword out of its casing on her back and slams her other hand down on the hood of the car to make a loud noise. The walkers grunt and turn slowly away from the other girl to face her. Clarke brings the sword down in front of her, “ _Hey!_ Over here assholes!” She yells and they turn completely.

They’re jaws start snapping wildly as they start grappling for her. She brings the sword around and severs off three of their heads at once. She grunts loudly as she carries the momentum into a 360 turn and cuts off three more. They fall to the floor and Clarke slashes her sword expertly through the air. Eventually she’s left surrounded by rotting corpses and she pushes the sword into the ground to keep her balance. She pants to regain her breath while the girl scrambles onto her feet. She slams her hand into her gun to unjam it and holds it up at Clarke whose eyes go wide.

She stands up straighter, about to open her mouth when the gun goes off.

Clarke remains standing and the girl lets out a relieved breath as the walker behind Clarke falls to the floor. She girl places her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. She’s panting as she walks towards Clarke. The blond watches her struggle to catch her breath. “I’m Octavia” the brunette coughs, tucking the gun back into the waistband of her jeans.

Clarke eyes the blood covering her katana sword and sighs, flicking a speck of brain matter off her handle. Octavia smiles thankfully and Clarke slides the sword into its casing. She turns around to get back into her car and then pauses. Her hand resting against the top of the door, she turns to face Octavia. “Which way you going?” she asks.

Octavia looks up from her gun with a frown, “Why?”

She lets out a chuckle, “I ain’t going to kill you, kid.” Clarke points up the 85 in the direction of charlotte, North Carolina which is where she’s currently headed. “You need a ride?”

Octavia looks up the road and frowns. But then she hears a distant growl and she nods rapidly, “Yeah.” She steps forward and quickly stumbles.

Clarke reaches out and catches her under the armpits, “Careful. I think it’s sprained.”

She hauls the teenager to her feet and limps her towards the car. Clarke helps her into the passenger seat and slams the door. She kicks away the bodies of the walkers without a single fleeting emotion of guilt to make a path. She glances at some of them, women, teenagers. It makes her sick; she doesn’t ever want to become one of them.

So, it was a moral thing.

“I didn’t catch your name.” Octavia points out.

Clarke just nods. Octavia fiddles with the radio and grunts when there isn’t a single channel working. Clarke slams her hand onto the CD player and it cackles to life, playing an old Smiths song that -despite its loudness- is welcome to the silence. “So, you wanna tell me how you ended up alone in the middle of nowhere?” Clarke asks continuing to drive straight ahead, avoiding the bodies in the road and still ignoring the nagging feeling that she needs to wash her hands.

Octavia sighs, “My group and I were out scouting for some food, and we all got separated.” She shrugs, repositioning her foot so that it hurts less. Clarke’s pretty sure it’s broken, and the advanced medical care offered by the US is currently off the table – because, you know, it was _so_ great before.

She frowns, “Maybe they're nearby.” She adds, blowing her blonde hair away from her eyes to keep a better eye on the surrounding woods for any thieves, bandits and walkers.

Sometimes she thinks that she’s more afraid of the humans than she is the walkers.

The other girl shakes her head and looks out of the window, watching the trees pass her by like she’s in some kind of movie. “Two days ago.” She explains, “The rule is to save yourself.” She adds, rubbing her eyes only for dirt to crackle onto the floor.

The blond scoffs, “That’s a fucking stupid rule. You save everyone.” She huffs, ignoring the look she’s currently getting from the other girl.

Octavia crosses her arms and frowns, “Is that why you saved me?” she asks, ignoring the slowly descending sun and the incoming darkness.

Clarke just shrugs.

(It was a moral thing.)

 

* * *

 

Octavia’s camp is situated on a farm with a vast field of greenery and an old, creaky house with a long porch near the long entrance road covered with trees that loom over head like a shield. Octavia’s foot has swollen to twice its size and she keeps moving to adjust its position.

“Bellamy would probably let you stay.” Octavia says as an after thought as they drive through the mud, “We could use a doctor.”

Clarke doesn’t reply but only grunts absentmindedly. The trees finally clear and the light sears her eyes as she comes into the camp where broken fences with metal wires holding them together, seem to be falling apart. There are people working in the fields with gloves hands that dig graves with brown shovels. There are others that are returning from the forest nearby, scuffling through the branches with firewood in their arms. The car grumbles to a halt and just about everyone she can see comes sprinting towards her with a weapon in their hands.

“Friendly.” She mutters under her breath, pulling the hand break and Octavia smirks.

They all stand with guns in their hands and one of them has a bow and arrow (what is she, Robin Hood?) Clarke pushes the door open, the sword still swung over her back, and steps out. “Who are you?” a voice demands.

She looks up with her hand over her eyes so that she can wince against the sun. He’s tall with curly hair and there’s dirt on his cheeks, vague smears of blood on his skin where a hand is wrapped around a gun pointed at her. “Arnold Schwarzenegger” She deadpans, walking around the car to the passenger side.

He’s thrown back momentarily and opens his mouth to say something but he’s roughly cut off when a familiar brunette is helped out of the car.

He literally doesn't argue with anything after that because he's so over the moon to have his sister back. ( _'I'll be gone soon'_ she tells him immediately. He nods, _'I'm counting the days'_.)

_____

She sits on the porch steps with a knife in her hand and a peach in the other as she watches the sun rise over the trees. Her blond hair is pulled back in a pony tail and her cheekbones pierce the skin with almost vicious force while she runs a finger along the blade, the sword is still around her back (does she ever take that thing off?).

Octavia took her to the small stream that runs down the back off the farm and she washed for the first time in months. She finally feels clean, she finally _is_ clean. Her nails are glimmering but jagged and ripped, her hair is blond- not brown, not dirty- _blond._ Her skin is pale, white not muddy anymore and Raven fixed her bra (seriously, they’ve got tampons as well). She washed her clothes, her green tank top actually looks like the colour it’s supposed to and her jeans are black again. There’s a silver necklace that hangs around her neck with a small moon at the end of it where he saw the initial of a G hidden behind it, but he doesn’t ask her.

(why would he?)

Bellamy’s a few steps down with his hip against the banister and a mug of coffee in his hand. There’s not much in it, they all had to share and the mug is broken with one side shattered into jagged edges, but it’s all they’ve got. They’re quiet and calm as Clarke peels the peach slowly, careful not to cut herself.

The sun travels slowly above the trees, the temperature rising while they don’t utter a single word and Clarke continues to rip off the skin of the fruit in her hands. Raven’s out hunting with Lincoln, Octavia’s inside resting her leg, Miller and Maya are digging- Bellamy says it’s for crops. Monty’s inside the house trying to fix some walkies so that everyone can stay in contact at any point, Jasper’s cleaning everyone’s clothes (he says he’s got a system) and Monroe went to get more water.

No-one told _her_ what to do.

“How long were you out there?” Bellamy asks, breaking the silence, not turning around to look at her.

She shrugs, “Lost count.” She mutters, the knife slicing through the peach.

He turns around, his back against the banister so she he can look at her, “Where were you going?” he asks, placing the mug on the flat end of the porch and crossing his arms. She has a car with two tanks of gas in the trunk and a worn map that with a clear path marked with dirty fingers.

She glances up at her him, her eyes violently blue and she carves out a piece of the peach, throwing it into her mouth and chewing, licking the end of her fingers not to waste anything. “Virginia.” She states and he raises an eyebrow. “There was a broadcast sent out at the beginning telling all doctors to go to the pentagon so they could set up a refuge. I didn’t go at first but then I lost my group and I figured I’d be safer there.” She shrugs but he can see the ghosts that haunt her.

“You’re a little young to be a doctor.” He points out because yeah, she is.

She shakes her head, “Pre med.” She carves out another piece of peach and looks at him carefully with narrowed eyes. “What about you?” she asks, chewing strenuously.

He shrugs, looking at his feet, “When it started I came here to take of O. Then we just tried to find a way to get back to living.” And when he sees the look in her eyes he shakes his head, “It’s not enough to survive.” She doesn’t say anything as she slices the rest of the peach in half and takes a bite.

She hasn’t had anything so juicy and tasteful in as long as she can remember. Her jeans are loose, not so tight anymore and she tightened her bra straps around the bones of her shoulder. She looks tired, almost ill with weight loss and sharp edged cheek bones. There are vague bruises and scratches around her body that he saw when he walked into Octavia’s room and saw her changing shirts. She didn’t say a word when she turned around, only dared him to say something. He didn’t. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have to deal with...” she trails off, looking away and concentrating on the fruit, “Everything out there.” She shrugs off uncomfortably.

“You can fight.” He replies with no specific tone to his voice.

She scoffs with an almost sadistic smile as she chews viciously through the peach, the knife tearing harshly through the fruit, “Not them.” _The humans._ Although, do they really count? To be human don’t you have to have some kind of humanity in you? The people out there, the lone wolves and the packs of murders and bandits- no-one can handle them.

She throws the last piece of peach in her mouth, wipes her hands on her jeans and stands up. She turns around and walks into the house to check on Octavia’s foot. Bellamy doesn’t turn around, only listens to the sword that bumps against her back and smells clean clothes that make her feel like she’s human again.

(She’s getting there)

 

* * *

 

It’s a crime against fashion.

That’s the only reason she does it.

Her mum used to wear these horrible pink sweaters every time she went out grocery shopping. Clarke never saw them at any other point in her life other than when her mother would leave the house with a grocery list and her car keys. They were the kinds that old racist granny’s would wear with tissues stuffed up the sleeve and the buttons done up on top of some floral dress and a pair of pumps. 

But then Clarke saw them again, once it started, when the call was made to send all doctor’s to Virginia. Her mum didn’t even say goodbye, leave a note or write a letter. She just upped and packed a bag, leaving Clarke behind with her father. But through the crack in her bedroom curtain, Clarke saw her mother getting into the car wearing one of those shitty pink sweaters but made no move to stop her.

She’s better off.

Her boots are shinning clean and the black colour they’re meant to be as she shuts the door with her foot. “What kind of a name is Clarke?” he asks as they climb out of the dirty blue car and shut their respective doors behind them.

The blond looks up with a frown as she holsters a gun in the waistband of her jeans, “Excuse me?” she almost demands as they walk around the car into the empty high street of a clear abandoned highway town with nothing other than gas stores and supermarkets.

“Is it French or something?” he asks as they walk side by side in the centre of the road where she looks at him like he’s insane (he could be).

The sword is swung around her back as her boots stomp over the rubbish and papers and tin cans that lie in the road. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she asks him with narrowed eyes.

They fall back into silence as the wind threads through her pony tail and their footsteps echo (too loud, if you ask her) along the street. The woods surrounding the small stretch of what was once civilisation, isolates the area completely. She misses the noise that cars made when they drove by, the buzzing from the street lamps as they flickered on and off and the gentle chatter in the background of voices that have long since gone.

The wall to the side of a building is plain white with only four words graffitied on the side of it in black ink; _tell them I tried._ The brains of walkers have been smashed into the brick until the blood dripped down the writing where the _tr_ of tried is twisted into a scramble of scribbles that make the word look like _died. Tell them_ has leaked and mashed up in the rain until they’re vague letters of distant memories and the wall is simply stating a fact: _I died._

She scoffs; even final words are too much to ask for.

Post apocalyptic was always something she was fascinated by. Whether it be vampires, or zombies, or a pandemic that swept through the nation, the fact that humans came up with this idea- this idea that predicted their own end, confused her immensely. Why find a way to end it all when we constantly want to keep living? He slows to a halt outside a small supermarket where the lit up sign above it has been ripped off and the windows are scratched and torn. Normally they go to another town but the store over there was over run so Bellamy doesn’t bother. He walks up to the door where he wraps a long cloth through the handles and knots it. Clarke walks forward, slamming the side of her fist against the plastic window and then steps back, crossing her arms.

Bellamy suddenly clicks his fingers, “Irish!” he cries, a little too loudly, “Your name’s Irish.” He adds.

She narrows her eyes and frowns, “Why do you care so much about the past?” she asks, and she can tell that he was _not_ expecting that question.

He shrugs, crossing his arms and Clarke see’s the muscles on his arm strain, “It’s more hopeful than our future.” he shrugs.

She wonders what kind of twisted shit mother he had that dropped him on his fucking head everyday of his life. The past was not hopeful and wanting to go back is incomprehensible. (It’s like when people say _‘it’s always been this way’_ or ‘ _it’s been around for hundreds of years’_ when they try to defend their reasons for discrimination- to which she always says _‘so has slavery, doesn’t make it right.’)_

She crosses her arms, the bruises on her body are clearer since her shower and he can see the trauma in her eyes.  “It’s boring. It’s repetitive, it’s filled with rich, old, white, cis men who got everything they wanted by stepping on those beneath them.” She explains angrily, shrugging like it doesn’t matter anymore. “The past sucks.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh, because our future looks so awesome.” He sneers sarcastically and there’s a spark in her eyes that tells him she’s going to disagree.

She cocks her head. “Do you see any racism? Sexism? Discrimination? Poverty?” she asks carefully, “It’s funny isn’t it? It took the world ending for all of human kind’s bullshit to finally become irrelevant. We’re still assholes, but that’s a genetic thing. Or an American thing.” She waves off disinterestedly (after all, it’s in the past.)

He smirks and she nearly hits him, “But you’re Irish.”

She purses her lips, trying to be angry at him, “Right.”

There’s a sudden bang at the door as a walker rams into the plastic window. It’s still wearing a red jacket with a little name tag (covered in dried blood) that says _tom._ Bellamy gives her first dibs but she’s washed her sword so she lets him have at it. Within a minute he’s tears his knife from the walker’s head and Clarke is stepping over its body.

They stock up on tinned foods; beans, greens, fish, meat, anything they can find really. Bellamy finds a small bottle of vodka hidden behind the till, underneath a box of lost property, where they also find some new shoes for Monty (his are raggedy as fuck).  They fill up a backpack and Clarke carries the rest in her arms (is that a tattoo?).

They walk out, pushing the door open with his shoulder where the little bell above it jingles. She juggles the tins that balance along her forearms and frowns- she better be the one that gets the sweet corn. There’s a growling from somewhere behind them and they both turn around to see a walker staggering along the road. It’s far enough and slow enough that it doesn’t even qualify as a threat and Bellamy agrees when he says, ‘ _Leave it.’_ But Clarke can’t take her eyes off of it.

It’s wearing one of those shitty pink sweaters, just like the one her mum wore when she abandoned them. Her nostrils flare- she knows she should just walk away but instead she hands Bellamy all the tins she’s carrying and he can see in her eyes exactly what she’s going to do. “Clarke.” He warns carefully but she glares at him and storm towards the walker, “ _Clarke.”_ He says louder but she ignores him. (Big surprise).

He watches her footsteps gradually speed up until she’s running at full force and she slams herself into the walker, launching a punch at its face again, and again, and again until the blood splatters against her skin. It’s fast, almost terrifyingly fast and she stands up, ripping the pink sweater from it’s back before she launches a kick at its stomach. Bellamy’s not even sure if it’s dead.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a lighter (she’s trying to quit!) and she sets that shitty pink sweater on fire, she drops it to the floor, watching it burn before she walks back to Bellamy. There’s blood on her face, her neck, her hands are covered in it (she _just_ showered!) and she picks up the tins she handed him and walks towards the car. He doesn’t ask her.

Even as they drive off, he can see the flames in the rear-view mirror.

It was a crime against fashion.

(That’s the only reason she does it.)

_______

“You want to talk about it?” he asks.

She scoffs, “Yeah. And then maybe we can braid each other’s hair”

“No wonder you were alone all this time." He mutters under his breath.

Clarke doesn’t even spare him a glance as she turns the volume up on the jazz CD playing so that she can drown him out completely. He looks unimpressed but doesn’t say a word as he looks out of the window at the sky scratching trees around them. She’s going to be the death of him.

(And maybe she’ll even kill him before he turns; god knows no-one else will.)

 

* * *

 

You’d think they’d get used to fighting against walkers, but its every bit as terrifying as the last. The adrenalin is incessantly pumping through their veins and the constant fear of possibly having been scratched or bitten (It takes a special kind of prick to keep it a secret if they’ve been infected- the kind that obviously shows they were never part of the team).

Bellamy shoots a group of walkers with a dead shot to the head before one attacks him from behind. He uses his elbow to push it off before ramming the knife into its head. It’s dark and the barn in the distance is the only source of light (for both humans and walkers alike) as the orange flames devour its structure. “Octavia!” he calls, never mind about attracting attention, they’re under attack anyway.

He can hear screams and shouts as the separate members of his camp spread out to escape through different means from the army of walkers gunning for their flesh. “They’re surrounding us we gotta move!” Raven yells not far away from him as she shoots an arrow into a walker’s head. She quickly swaps to a gun when she realises she’s running out.

“Clarke!” he yells at the top of his voice, scanning through the crowds, “ _Cl-”_

Raven roughly knocks into him and they collapse to the ground where a walker quickly follows with a snapping jaw where Bellamy can see bits of brain caught between its teeth. “Fuck.” Reyse mutters, slamming the butt of her gun into its head and the blood splatters over their faces.

“Fuck.” He mutters and she doesn’t even bother to reply as she kicks the walker off them violently with a grunt.

“We gotta move.” She breathes next to him, crawling to her feet as walkers pass by in haphazard directions of the dark. She holds out her hand and he accepts it so she pulls him upwards with the black bow and her remaining arrows swung around her back.

He shakes his head, pulling the machine gun to the front of his body, “I gotta find Octavia.” He rasps, wiping his brow and spreading blood across his face, “Have you seen Clarke?” he asks absentmindedly, listening to a car screech off in the distance through the flames.

Raven shoots a walker in her way and looks at Bellamy, “ _We have to go.”_ She repeats, wide eyed and desperate. Bellamy’s eyes lace with fear as he looks across the night where the walkers _swarm_ the blazing field and through the vague shadows and distant screams. He watches the wood from the barn crackle and crash to the ground while the walkers continue to walk toward it. Raven grabs his face in her hands, “We’ll meet up with them. We need to go Bell, we _need_ to go.” She begs.

He swallows and nods carefully- he doesn’t want to go, he can’t leave _her_ behind- “Okay. Okay let’s get out of here.” He shakes his head to get rid of his thoughts as he and raven begin to fight their way towards the road. “Have we got a car-” he falters at the end of his sentence when Raven throws a leg over her bike.

“Get on.” She orders, revving the engine to life. He clambers onto the back of her motorbike, shooting walkers attracted by the sound as she floors it out of there. His arms wrap around her waist to stay in place and he risks a glance behind him, letting off a few more shot as he watches their home for the past six months _burn_ to the ground.

(He’s going to miss the coffee.)

 

* * *

 

The wheels at the bottom of the car churn angrily against the concrete road where the four bodies in the car sit unimpressed with the world. The windows are rolled up because when Octavia tried to roll it down there were vein lines of grease that squelched loudly and they all grimaced.

Maya swerves to avoid the abandoned cars in the street where walkers smack at the windows, but stay untouched because none of them care enough. Clarke sits in the passenger seat with the machine gun on the floor and the sword by her side. There’s and a map on her lap that has long since been covered in bloody fingerprints with mud drags of the rushed kind. Octavia is in the backseat with her head turned to look out of the window and her leather jacket unzipped. There’s a bloodstain at the bottom of her shirt and when she reaches up to rub her forehead, a streak of red is left behind.

Miller lies across the backseat with his legs twisted at unfathomable angles to fit his head on Octavia’s lap. When the walkers attacked, Miller was thrown off a ladder where his head slammed into the ground and he was knocked out. Octavia carried him all the way to the car where she fell on her ankle again.

They’re all covered in mud that squelches under their boots and blood that stains their hands. The car in silent, no words uttered but their beating hearts. Clarke adjusts the rear view mirror until she can see the brunette in the backseat and she purses her lips, “You alright?” she asks.

Octavia looks up with blue eyes wide and looks at the blond’s reflection, she swallows and nods, “You should be more worried about Miller.” She mutters, her fingers running through his hair to calm her down.

The car rattles down the forest road- Clarke’s surprised they haven’t attracted any walkers. The tatty red yogurt pot they’re sitting in bumps violently over a pothole where the car shakes and Octavia winces, her hand clutching the wound on her hip. The blond frowns in the rear view mirror before throwing an arm around the chair and turning around, “Are you bleeding?” she asks with a frown.

Octavia looks down at her shirt and wrinkles her nose, “It’s not a big deal.” She opens her mouth but the brunette beats her too it, “I’m fine, really.” She assures, hiding a wince as she lifts her arm to wave the other woman off.

Clarke wants to say _‘he'll find us’_ or _‘he’s okay’._ But that’s not her. She doesn’t do reassuring words and soft smiles of the generous kind. She doesn’t lie to people but she knows when not to say the truth. She doesn’t _hope_ for the best she simply expects the worst, and the worst is that he’s dead- or turned. So instead she says, “We’ll find him.” (she can’t lie for shit.)

Octavia’s fingers trace through the dirt on the window, “You know what’s funny?” She breathes and Clarke glances at her in the mirror-calm and forgiving, “You didn’t say he’d be alive.”

(But she wants to)

 

* * *

 

They drive for two days.

Miller doesn’t wake up and Octavia keeps his head elevated on her knee while Maya drives. They reach a prison. It doesn’t exactly strike confidence in her heart but they clear it and lock the gates and burn the bodies. They have an entire two tier cell block to themselves and Clarke keeps Miller under observation.

Maya starts planting crops in the guarded open field; Octavia clears out the concrete area and goes out stealing more cars and petrol. (‘ _I can handle myself.’_ Clarke scoffs, ‘ _I know that. Just... keep an eye out, alright?_ And Octavia knows she means for Bellamy, so she nods.) Clarke stays around the prison, fortifying the base- she strengthens the lock, re-enforces the double fences and starts collecting wood to build spears on the doors. Octavia leaves messages on windows of the surrounding towns and building- _Bell_ \- all of them that lead to the jail.

Monroe shows up alone after three days. She’s nearly out of bullets but she managed to swipe some ammo before their camp went up in flames. She get’s straight to it, finding a way for them to access clean water where she starts building a pipe that runs from the river nearby into a water fountain. (‘ _Even jasper wouldn’t know how to do that_ ’ she boasts.)

Monty shows up after a week with a wheelbarrow carrying a body wrapped in a white sheet and Lincoln walks behind him with a machine gun strapped around his shoulders. Jasper’s dead, and nobody has to say a word- His best friend’s eyes do that. Maya digs a grave, and then three more just in case. (Monroe swallows her words).

Still no Raven. Still no Bellamy. (Miller wakes up though- so Maya fills the grave until there are two.)

(They wait for two weeks.)

The sun is high in the sky and they're all sweating out any kind of motivation they have left. Mayas still watering the crops, ( _'we need to be sustainable.'_ she says, to which Octavia replies _'the worlds dead, we can do whatever the fuck we want.'_ ) Clarke and Monroe have finished building the wooden spears on the doors and Monty's been re-wiring some of the walkie talkies (even though _'This is Raven's job'_ he says. To which Clarke replies _'Raven's not here.'_ ) They accepted a few more people into their group, travelers looking for a purpose and people in need of help. There are 12 of them now.

Raven turns up with him in tow like its any other day and they haven't been missing at all, (Maya fills the graves until there are none).

"Hey princess." He groans in pain. He's covered in mud with stretches of blood over his skin and he's leaning on Reyes _('idiot jumped off a building'_ , She shakes her head, _'Saved your life didn't I?'_ He replies with a glint in his eye and its in that very moment that Clarke knows they slept together)

(it hurts more than it should).

 

* * *

 

Its 6 o'clock in the morning and she's already busy. The sword is strapped around her back and she's kneeled by the crops where Maya has been tending to them for a month now. Clarke tucks a strank of mucky blond hair behind her ear and sighs, looking over the prisons gates into the distance as she picks the home grown food in front of her.

The necklace around her neck sticks to the sweat on her skin and slides over the bones on her body. She needs to eat more, drink more, not spend her days taking care of everyone else. Her jeans are even looser than before and her shirt hangs off her body like a muddy sheet. Her shoes are ripped and tattered and the skin on her cheeks is stretched over the bones on her face. (She's surprised the necklace has lasted this long).  Bellamy walks up beside her with heavy footsteps and steep breaths of the _boiling_ kind. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and takes a huge bite from the apple in his hand. "You working?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.

She doesn't look at him, but continues to dig up the soil and turn it over. She sighs- she's never been one of those people who complains, she just gets on with it. But gardening in the boiling heat is _hard_ and she has a whole new respect for Maya. "Yeah." She replies uninterested.

He takes another bite of his apple and winces when the sun reflects off the necklace around her neck. "I..." He starts with a heavy voice but just as soon stops himself. _I missed you? I want you? I what?_ He looks down at the crops that she throws into a bucket, home grown ( _'I expect thanks in the form of sex'_ Maya smiles blushing at her own joke) "Do you need some help." He says finally.

She scoffs inside, knowing perfectly that that was not his intended line. She watches the sun shine against the leaves on the trees and the fiddles with her necklace. "No." She assures, calmbering to her feet, snatching the apple from his hand as she picks up the bucket and starts to walk back towards the prison. "I'm sure Raven needs you." she adds with an unreadable look to hide whatever it is she's feeling.

He purses his lips and frowns, how the hell does she know? He shakes his head and looks at his feet, "Why, you jealous?" He replies with a smirk himself. She shakes her head and doesn't reply as she turns around and laughs with that damn sword still strapped to her back. He watches the only woman he really wants walk away from him with dirty muddy hair and grime over skin but he doesn't think he's seen a creature more beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

(He should have told her goddamnit)

 

* * *

 

He sees her around the base, which isn't unusual, but he sees Finn with her a lot more. He's always leering over her and smiling at her from across the room, and Clarke doesn't tell him to stop. There's a rising jealousy in his chest as he downs a shot of something and sneers when Finn puts his hand on her leg. Clarke looks back a few times and sees Bellamy's hands in a fist and a brewing anger in his eyes and she laughs louder when Finn tries to be funny. ( _'Its not home but its a start'_ she said when she showed him to his cell, he just shook his head, _'I'll adapt'_ ).

(She sleeps with him, she's not sure why, but she does, and the look on Bellamy's face is worth it.)

 

* * *

 

She's still not quite sure how to work a gun, its a marvel she's never had to use one in the world they live in. They're in the courtyard of the prison, opposite where Maya grew her crops that's filled with cars and bottsle of petrol that Octavia collected ( _'By myself!'_ She assures proudly). Bellamy drew a target on a piece of card with chalk ( _'Its the apocalypse, where the fuck did you find chalk?'_ Clarke demands and Bellamy rolls his eyes _'Shut up and shoot the can'_ ). The tin can he lined up on a thin plank of wood so that it sits bang on the bullseye.

"I hate guns." She says as she holds the chunck of metal uncomfortably in her hands.

He shrugs from where he's standing on the sidelines of the make shift gun range. "I hate the thought of you dead." He drops in, nonchalantly.

She pauses, scratching her head uncomfortably and looks away, not sure how to answer him. She wraps her hand around the handle of the gun and points it at the bullseye with one eye shut in concentration and the other wide. The damn sword is still strapped behind her back and when she let's off a shot (unsurprisingly) she misses. Bellamy walks over and behind to adjust her position; he lowers her arm, lifts her chin, sets her body straight, moves one foot forward and angles her foot. And this time when she shoots, she's closer to the target.

Before she gets off another shot Bellamy kicks the gun out of her hand. Without a second thought she yanks the sword out of its case and swings it in his direction. "What the fuck?" She demands angrily.

He's never seen the wild look in her eyes before, and its safe to say he never wants to see it again. He bends his legs, bounding on the balls of his feet and motions for her to come forward, "You don't need to know how to shoot a gun if you're good at hand to hand combat." He points out.

She frowns, placing her sword back in its case, "Hand to hand combat? Have you heard yourself, we're not in the goddamn army." She reminds but he just grins and she sighs. She removes the sword from her back and place it against the wall.

Before she's even turned around, Bellamy throws a punch at her face and she quickly dodges it, pushing it in the direction of it's continued momentum and pushes him back with all the force she can muster (that's _a lot_ by the way, he has the bruises to prove it). He chuckles to mask the pain and shakes his head to wipe off the loss. The blond throws a punch at his face and when he ducks to avoid it, he swipes his leg across the ground to trip her up. She jumps over it and he then they're back to sparing.

She lands a punch across his face ( _'you punch like a wrestler Jesus Christ'_ he cries) and he grabs her arm and twists it into a lock so that he stands behind her with her arm in a painful twist. He opens his mouth to say ' _what now?'_ but she screams out as she brings her head forward and throws it back to head butt in him the face. He yells out in devastating pain and she takes the opportunity to kick him in the side. She pauses for a moment, to make sure he's okay, and he doesn't spare her a second thought and launches an almighty punch to her gut.

Unsurpringly it hurts, and she crashes to the floor where her shoulder cracks loudly and she screams (fuck, did he just break her arm?) She groans and rolls onto her back with her eyes screwed shut. She sucks in a few sharp breaths and when she sees him approach her, she kicks his ankles.

He falls, like any other person would, beside her in a heap of heavy breaths and gasping voices, and he yells out at the gasping pain in his hand when it cracks against the floor. (Fuck, did she just break his hand?) Bellamy reaches up where blood is dripping from his nose and he hisses at the pain in his back. Clarke can feel the dirt in her hair and the blood pooling in her mouth. She rubs her upper arm, "I think you broke my shoulder." She puffs.

Their chests are heaving as they lie on the grass in strained pulls of painful muscles that crie out in pain, "I think you broke my wrist." He accuses.

She coughs a hurtful laugh and crinkles her eyes shut, "Maybe Raven will nurse you back to health." She mutters under her breath.

He turns to look at her over his heaving chest. Blood drips from his nose so he wipes it with the back of his hand and it streaks across cheek. She rolls onto her side and spits out the blood from her mouth, "That was one time princess." He points out. She just shrugs. He was missing for two weeks, they had no idea where he was, if he was alive, where he was- if he had turned. She was going out of her goddamn mind for two weeks and he had the time to sleep with Raven. She doesn't say anything in return, only wipes her thumb under her mouth where the blood has dripped onto her shirt. "Is that why you've been weird?" He asks carefully.

Clarke takes a deep breath and groans at the pain in her shoulder, "Not everything is about you Bellamy." She assures with a disbelieving look in her eyes and a raised eyebrow as she sits up onto the balls of her hand, her chest heaving and blood stains on her skin.

"So you and Finn huh?" He mentions and when she glares at him he holds both hands up in a surrender, "I'm just saying, he's not really your type is he?" Bellamy points out.

Clarke scoffs and closes her eyes, pinching her nose, "Oh and you are?" She asks angrily and he opens his mouth to reply- ( _'Well, you're mine'_ ).

But then someone screams, a sound so blood curtling that Clarke and Bellamy share a look of complete fear before they run to help. (Finn runs in the opposite direction though.)

 

* * *

 

They lose Lincoln and Maya (And three others, Finn being one of them) when they're attacked at the prison.

Well, they're not lost. Octavia carries a wheelbarrow with a white sheet over it ( _'its brown'_ Clarke mutters and Octavia glares at her _'it used to be white'_ and somewhere in the distance Bellamy watches with sad eyes and says _'a lot of things_ used _to be.'_ ) and Lincoln lies underneath it with legs twisted at angles that make Octavia want to vomit. Monroe walks beside her with Maya's body covered in a white sheet as well in a creaky and rusting wheelbarrow. Two were turned before anyone could kill them and Finn ran for the hills. Bellamy and Clarke lead the group of bloodied misfits down the road (they ran out of petrol 10 miles back) in the midst of exhaustion.

Octavia looks blankly ahead of her and Bellamy glances over worriedly, (Clarke knows better when Octavia packs a bite like a dog).

The two leaders don't spare each other a glance, instead they check on different members of their group. Its hot, no change there, but its so hot that Clarke can tell that several members want to stop. Alex's baby has been crying quietly for some time and no-one has done anything any thing to help, so when Alex looks like he might collapse, Clarke sighs. She walks through the group that give her strange glances and when she gets to Alex she holds out her arms. Alex let's out a sigh of relief and nods a thanks ( _'she's not usually this loud'_ he tries to defend her but the blond shakes her head, _'we'll adapt'_ )

So Clarke walks with a small baby in her arms and such a pure smile that Bellamy gets distracted. She rocks the baby in her arms and her glistening grin shines through the dirt, blood and grime on her face. His legs turn to jelly and he's surprised he can even walk, let alone lead. She starts humming a tune under her breath and the baby Ellen stops crying. ( _'my dad used to sing it to me'_ she explains. _'I never knew my dad'_ Bellamy comments absentmindedly and Clarke shakes her head _'then he's not worth it, is he?'_ ).

Their feet are blistered and bruised with tattered shoes that hang off their toes. Their shirts are soaked with sweat and they've all become immune to the smell. There's an unbreakable tenacity and they all know that they can't stop walking- Octavia refuses to let anyone help her carry Lincoln. ( _'When she cries you need to be with her_ ' Clarke tells Bellamy. He frowns _'Why?'_ She just looks at him with deadly seriousness and shakes her head _'Grief makes you do crazy shit.'_ And he wants to ask her what she means.) No one talks, what would they talk about? No one questions their leaders and directions are given out at the last minute. (Clarke has no idea where the fuck they are but they believe she knows what she's doing, so that's enough).

"Do you think it gets easier?" Bellamy asks quietly, looking at the long road ahead. Clarke looks up from the baby in her arms and frowns, "This." He continues, motioning around them.

Clarke shakes her head, she doesn't even have to consider his question, "No." She states, stroking the hair on the baby's head. "Things are easy when you know what to do. Do you see any instructions for the apocalypse?" She asks acidly.

He just shakes his head at the typical Clarke response and he, ironically, does in fact feel better. ( _'Ever heard of the walking dead?'_ He asks. She shrugs _'Never liked that show'_.) And in some twisted way, he's glad he's not the only one who has no idea what the fuck to do. And so they walk for miles, sleep in makeshift temporary camps and eat the last remaining food they have until they find a packet of bottled water in the middle of the road there's a sign on top of it in perfect black pen that reads _'from a friend'_. People obviously want to take it but Bellamy and Clarke share a look. ( _'We can't'_ she says. _'I know'_ he agrees. But the looks on their face says they _need_ it. The baby in her arms starts to cry and Clarke's heart breaks a little when she has to say _'no'_ )

 

* * *

 

Alexandria is like a bad dream and a twisted ironic pieces of shit life threw in their face.

Its literally everything they've aimed for. A life, some way to get back to living. There are thick and high walls that block out the rest of the world. There are tall beautiful houses that lay untouched by the ravages of insanity. There are trees, trees that seem greener somehow and empty roads, clean roads. There are lamp posts that actually work, piles and piles of guns (really, America?). There are men who sit on porches drinking beer and women who sit on the steps of their homes with glasses of wine. They talk about the locals, gossip about their kids and laugh at a joke Clarke heard once before the Apocalypse.

(It's a shitty joke anyway).

There are parents who watch their kids cycle around the road and others who hold their babies and take picture with their cameras. ( _'what the fuck is this place?'_ Raven breathes in petrified disgust. _'I think it's what we've been looking for'_ Clarke says, like she's not quite sure she could ever think up a place as twisted as this.) There's chatter of useless topics and exchanges of recipies of parents who want to learn how to make the _best_ cookies (Clarke nearly sends a chair through the window when someone asks her if she, _by chance_ , picked up a pasta maker while she was out there.)

(Bellamy _barely_ holds her back.)

They get given houses. Their _own_ houses. Bellamy, Octavia and Monty opt to live together. Its a tall, two story house with intact blue paint around the outside and a sofa on the porch (the cushions are so clean that octavia's scared to touch them). Bellamy slides the key into the door and pushes it open but none of them step in. Monty peers his head through the gap and turns back to Bellamy would shrugs, so Monty continues into the house ( _their house!_ ). Everything is organised with bookshelves that actually have books in them. It's so white and perfect and unused and Octavia has to blink before her eyes adjust to the brightness.

Monty tuns his fingers across the fabric of the sofa and the brunette tucks a strand of muddy hair behind her ear as she starts pulling open drawers and cupboards. She find biscuits and tinned soups and she turns the tap on and flinches when water spurts out. Monty stares in disbelief ( _'they have running water?'_ He asks, eyes wide. Octavia washes her hands for the first time in months and she has no idea she had a scar there.)

"Hi there!" Someone exclaims behind them and all of their hands fly to their weapons. The woman seems unperturbed (has she even seen a gun before?) And she walks straight through the open door, "I'm Lou Anne" she smiles kindly, juggling the plate in her arms to hold out a hand. Bellamy just looks at her in confusion and pauses. Louhanne is a plump woman with gold rings on her wrinkly fingers and shoes that shine like they're new. She wears clothes that look like they've never been stained once in her life and her hair actually looks like the colour it's supposed to be. Bellamy hesitates before carefully shaking her hand, eyeing her the entire time.

"Bellamy." He swallows.

"I'm your neighbour." She explains, "I heard we were greeting some more people and I figured I'd make you feel welcome with my home made fritatas." She says, holding the plate out and Bellamy hesitates before accepting it. "They're the best in the neighbourhood, don't hesitate to ask for more, I'm sure you didn't have much while you were out there. Angela said she'd bring by some brownies so I hope y'all like chocolate." She grins, and its so innocent that Octavia has to look away.

"Uh..." Bellamy trails off, unsure of what to say.

"Oh I'm sorry!" She exclaims a little too loudly and they all flinch. "Y'all probably want to get settled in, I'm sure there's alot you have to get done. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll see you all later at the town meeting?" But she doesn't give them time to reply as she starts to walk out, "If you ever need any help, don't hesitate to ask- I'm only next door!" She repeats and then she's gone.

They stand in silence, not quite sure what to do next. Bellamy slowly places the fritatas on the kitchen island and notices the trail of dirt they've left behind. He sighs, rubbing his eyes. _What the fuck is this place?_

Clarke, Raven, Miller and Monroe move into the house opposite them. Its a two storey building, almost identical to Bellamy's, but this time the perfect paint is Yellow and Clarke actually refuses to step inside. Raven and Monroe are Just as baffled as everyone else and they actually let's out a cry when water comes out of the tap. Miller jumps on the sofa like a child with a grin. ( _'If this is what we've been after this whole time then why does it make me want to crawl out of my skin?'_ Reyes asks quietly. Clarke swallows, _'I think I'm going to vomit'_. And she does.) Raven drops her bows and arrow onto the floor and is the first to get into the shower (she's never seen so much dirt in a plughole in her _life_ ). Within 3 hours of their arrival, Clarke's entire group have showered, ate and passed out to sleep almost immediately.

Octavia doesn't even get under the covers, she just falls on top and then doesn't have the energy to move. Monty climbs under the covers and falls asleep so fast that Bellamy thinks something is wrong. (The Asian boy screams in his sleep, so something is definitely wrong.) Raven sleeps with her bows and arrow in her bed and her hair smells like apples. Monroe falls asleep in the bath with the shower still running (she wakes up so wrinkled that Raven laughs for the first time in months). Bellamy showers, three times because he doesn't think the first two washes quite do the job.

Clarke stands on the pavement, looking at the house that was given to her. She hasn't showered and obviously hasn't gone to bed and the sword is still strapped around her back. She scratches her arm and dirt crackles under her nails. She hears footsteps behind her (human) and she waits until Bellamy slows to a halt beside her. He doesn't say anything at first but eventually he points to the house, "I think you can go inside." He mentions.

Clarke turns to look at him and double takes with wide eyes, "What the hell are you wearing?" She asks in shock.

He looks down at the clean grey t-shirt and the new pair of jeans and tugs at the collar with a laugh, "It's a bit over the top isn't it?" He mutters awkwardly.

She stares a little longer before she laughs, honest to god laughs. She has to hold onto his shoulder to balance herself and she covers her mouth. He chuckles to himself and tries not to blush with embarrassment when she plays with the sleve, twisting it in her hands. She smiles softly, "You look like a choir boy." She comments, shaking her head disbelievingly.

He looks at her with raised eyebrows in all of her disgusting glory and sighs, "You look like shit." He states blandly with a joking tone but a serious look in his eyes.

(She walks away when he tells her to shower)

(She doesn't)


	2. Chapter 2

She sleeps on the porch, not even on the outdoor sofa, she sleeps on the wood. She's like a guard dog, protecting her friends (her family). Bellamy's never realised just how bad she smells until he showered almost everyday. Raven brings her food (some of Lou Anne's frittatas) but Clarke points to an animal she caught hunting, ( _ 'I'll cook it later'  _ she mutters and Raven sighs, pinching her nose and kneels down beside her friend.  _ 'We're here to stay. You need to adapt.' _ ) Clarke glares at her and so the brunette retreats reluctantly.

Raven knocks on Bellamy's door and when he opens, she doesn't even have to tell him what it's about. He ushers her in and before he's even shut the door she says, "You gotta do something about Clarke."

He just looks at her like he's been expecting this, "She won't listen to me." He points out, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Raven glares at him like he's a fucking idiot and crosses her arms, she doesn't say anything though. Bellamy swallows and looks out of the window, slowly approaching it with Raven who just sighs. Clarke sits on the porch, covered in blood and dirt and she eats a fruit she found outside the walls of Alexandria. "It's been three weeks and she still won't come inside." Raven sighs tiredly, "I've tried everything. Sometimes she doesn't even sleep on the porch."  _ she sleeps outside. _ "And when she does, she wakes up and pulls out the splinters. She won't shower, she won't eat, she won't let me wash her clothes." The brunette adds.

There's a pause when Octavia comes down the stairs. She's dressed in pyjamas that are too big for her but the dazed look in her eyes says that she couldn't give less of a shit. She pours herself a glass of water through the silence and purses her lips. "I hear her crying." She interjects, half woken from hibernation. "She tries to hide it." She adds.

(Bellamy's heart breaks a little.)

He watches the blond regard the world around her with careful and calculating eyes as she slices through the fruit in her hands. She looks broken with the scars on her body and the blood on her hands. ( _ 'I smell fine' _ she mutters, batting Monty off but he pours a glass of water over her head, _ 'I can assure you that you don't'.  _ She throws the glass against the wall.) Bellamy shakes his head, "I'll figure something out."

(Octavia tries to cook dinner but halfway through her knees give way and she falls to the floor in a mess of tears. _ 'Fuck the apocalypse' _ She screams angrily, throwing the food across the room like there's more from where it came from.)

(Bellamy doesn't leave her once.)

 

* * *

 

Clarke does things alone.

She hunts, she scavenges, she collects provisions and brings back items of seemingly unnecessary value that someone at Alexandria asked her for. ( _ 'Do you think you could bring me some self raising flour?' _ One man asks and Clarke frowns _ 'why?'  _ He smiles,  _ 'I have a bread maker, why not use it?' _ He asks like it's obvious. She manages not to punch him. _ 'Sure' _ she says, like she's not quite sure what she's hearing.) but she does it all alone.

So when the president of Alexandria (Alison) asks Clarke to take charge of all the supply runs, she refuses. ( _ 'I'm sorry, why?' _ Alison asks, confused. Clarke shrugs, _ 'I work alone' _ . The red headed woman frowns, _ 'You came in a team'. _ The blond nods, _ 'And they knew not to tag along anytime I went on a supply run.' _ )

Apart from Bellamy.

(Alison laughs a little,  _ 'I'm not asking you this because I think you'd be good, to be frank, I think you'd be terrible-' _ something squelches in Clarke's stomach,  _ '- I'm asking because you know the world out there. My people don't. And you come highly recommended'  _ the blond frowns, _ 'by who?' _ Alison purses her lips,  _ 'Bellamy' _ )

(Clarke agrees.)

"On one condition." Alison adds. Clarke pauses, halfway turned towards the door with her eyebrows raised. The redhead wrinkles her nose, "If you're here to stay, then you need to take a shower." She pauses, "I've been getting complaints."

Clarke flips her the bird.

 

* * *

"Clarke?" Bellamy asks as he steps through the open front door. No one replies as he shuts it behind him and walks across the creaky floorboards, "Hello?" He asks and his voice echoes. He frowns, "Raven? Monroe?" He adds.

No reply.

He hears footsteps upstairs and the distant tune of a jazz song that plays softly in the house. He creeps up the steps, his new shoes squeak across the floorboards as he follows the noise of a song he's never heard before. ( _ 'You've never listened to Jazz?'  _ Clarke cries, _ 'That's not acceptable.'  _ He shrugs, _ 'I was always more of a reggae person'  _ Clarke waves her hand,  _ 'Of course  _ you'd _ listen to reggae.' _ She states derisively. _ 'What does  _ that _ mean?' _ He raises an eyebrow. The blond shrugs, _ 'Reggae is what people enjoy when they've never heard good music.'  _ He throws a towel at her head and she laughs.)

(He likes her laugh.)

He knocks on a door (he thinks it's Clarke's room) and when there's no reply he pushes it open a little. The jazz music gets louder, the soft tune fills the room and it smells vaguely of strawberries. He sees Clarke standing in front of her vanity with her arms by her side, scissors in one hand and a glare in her eyes as she looks at her own reflection. ( _ 'I don't need a fucking vanity, what makes you think I want to see this face everyday?' _ She snaps and Raven smacks her over the back of the head,  _ 'shut up and deal with your self confidence issues' _ ).

Her hair is wet and sticks to her face and for once, her sword is leaning against the wall and not her back. She is barefoot with clean feet and ripped toenails that are no longer brown. The blond strands that hang in front of her face are no longer dirty and her face is pale with exhaustion. She's changed from her sweat ridden and tattered old clothes and she's wearing pale blue jeans.

( _'who do you think these belonged to before?'_ She asks and Bellamy shrugs, looking down at his shirt, _'Does it matter?'_ she nods absentmindedly but she doesn't quite agree with him). She wears ('wears' is a loose term because it literally _hangs_ off her) a white shirt with sleeves that flare at the elbows and the necklace still around her neck. She swallows and sucks in a sharp breath, closing her eyes.

He watches carefully, he's never seen her so quiet and something stabs in his chest. She starts prodding at the bones in her cheeks and pushes her nose a little to the left like a self conscious teenager. (She's looking for scars.) "You look normal." Bellamy says as he leans against the door frame and crosses his arms with a soft smile.

Clarke's eyes travel to meet his in the mirror and she scoffs, "I don't feel it." She mutters.

He points to the scissors in her hand, "You going to slit your wrists?" He asks nonchalantly (he knows she wouldn't, but when she's got that broken look in her eyes he doesn't know what she's capable of.)

She breathes a laugh, "Cut my hair actually." She shrugs- and he notices that her hair reaches her waist- and then she shuffles awkwardly, "I don't know where to start." She admits.

He smiles and Clarke's heart stutters in her chest at the joy in his eyes. He holds out his hand, "Gimme." He says as he walks further into the room.

She frowns, "What makes you think you'd be better than me?" She demands, almost offended but gives him the scissors anyway. He waves off with indistinct words of  _ shut up _ as he sits her down on the seat in front of her vanity. (She's never had a vanity before.)

He starts to pull clumps of blond together and trim them and Clarke hears little pieces quietly hit the floor. His fingers touch the exposed skin of her neck and she shivers, and because they're in fucking Georgia and no one's ever shivered here in their  _ life _ , he notices. The jazz still plays in the background and he starts to see why she likes it so much (he still prefers reggae). The thin white curtains are pulled shut behind the head of her bed but thin strips of light illuminate the room to show muddy footprints that stain the carpet. ( _ 'I tried to wash them off'  _ she murmurs and he stops her, _ 'it's okay'. _ )

There's a gun holstered around his hip and he's got a coat with a badge that says  _ sheriff _ that he was awarded on their second week here. He blows stray pieces of hair away from her clothes and in one quick swoop, chops off a good 10cm at once. He continues to trim, carefully because he knows she'll kill him if he cuts her. He places the scissors on her vanity and claps, "Done."

Clarke runs her fingers through the remainder of her hair, remainder because it's up to her shoulders now. She smiles at him in the mirror, "Thanks." She says and he nods in response. He starts to walk away, his hand around the door itself when Clarke spins around and says "Bellamy-" without even meaning to, (which is clear by the shocked look in her eyes). Her mouth gapes open for a few moments and she blinks, "I..." She looks up at him. His dark brown eyes and tanned skin with freckles across his nose and the kindness behind his stare and she swallows, shaking her head and smiling, "Never mind." She bites her tongue.

(He nearly asks her what she wanted to say.)

(Nearly.)

The blond turns back to the mirror and sighs, closing her eyes.  _ You should have told him you idiot  _ she scolds herself internally,  _ you should have opened your mouth and said something _ . She stops, closes her eyes and slowly, ever so slowly, lowers her forehead to the vanity table until it hits with a bang. And she lifts it up, and bangs it again. (Several times) and each time in her head she says to herself  _ 'idiot' _ , while the jazz music plays in the background.

The door bursts open behind her violently and slams loudly into the wall and Clarke whirls around. Bellamy stands in the opening, his chest heaving because once he got outside he realised he'd made a mistake and ran all the way back. His eyes are wide and panicked and they stand facing each other while she stares at him with unspoken words in her open lips. Her fingers twitch, to touch him, to curl her fingers in the locks on his head and to feel the freckles on his cheeks.

He swallows loudly, his adam's apple bobbing up and down and he shakes his head, "Fuck it." And with that he storms across the room, throwing his hand into her hair and pulls her in for a kiss.

Her back rams against the vanity and she hears various items drop to the ground, ( _ 'was it like in the movies? Did you get butterflies?' _ Miller wriggles his eyebrows. Bellamy glares, _ 'Shut up' _ ). His other hand goes around her waist, crawling to her ass (not that she's complaining), but as soon as he's kissing her he's not. As soon as her eyes are closed he's moved. As soon as the butterflies fly, he stops. And he stands in front of her, looming slightly with his chest slowly heaving and a dazed look in his eyes while she stares at him like she doesn't quite understand what the fuck just happened.

And just as soon as he was there, he's gone.

( _ 'You're such a mess' _ Raven sighs, rolling her eyes and picking up some things that fell from the vanity. Clarke just nods, still processing what happened,  _ 'yeah' _ she mumbles.)

 

* * *

 

( _ 'They're sleeping together' _ Miller States confidently as he watches them talking on the porch of his house. Raven rolls her eyes, _ 'it's none of our business.'  _ She says but Octavia interrupts her, _ 'do you think they'll get married like Glenn and Maggie in the walking dead?' _ Monty shrugs, _ 'never liked that show' _ .)

 

* * *

 

Clarke determines that the people of Alexandria are too innocent for their own good. Bellamy doesn't even need to be convinced, he agrees immediately. But she sees how well he fits in and she can't help but feel slightly jealous. ( _ 'You've gone soft'  _ she states, almost accusingly and he raises an eyebrow, _ 'I've adapted'  _ he assures.) 

Alison hosts a party in honor of their new(ish)comers, (Bellamy thinks it's more for morale than anything else.) There are sandwiches and slices of cheese, ( _ 'How did they make cheese?'  _ Monty asks and Monroe shrugs, _ 'Breast milk?'  _ She suggests.) There are various bottles of wine and glasses disregarded on windowsills with the priority of dancing.

There's dancing.

Clarke doesn't say anything when she walks in, but the look on her face is enough. There's indistinct chatter and music in the background (fucking reggae, of course) and people in the middle of the dimly lit room, dancing to a song she's sure Bellamy chose. She grabs a beer, it's warm but she doesn't care. Some kids run across her path, laughing with teddies in their hands and Clarke can't help but watch with child-like wonder at the innocence they won't get to enjoy as long as they should. (Raven takes a strand of Clarke's hair in her hand, in total silence and then shrugs. Octavia nods, _ 'Not bad' _ and Monty shrugs, _ 'I didn't know you were blond' _ .)

Monty drags Monroe to the dance floor while she tries desperatley to finish her beer. Miller helps cook some of the meat on a barbeque in the garden where the patio has been turned into a stage (and Bellamy is the main attraction). He stands opposite Octavia with her hand in his as he twirls her around to the music. She laughs, for the first time since she can remember while women (and several men) can't help but admire him with dazed looks in their eyes, like he's the fucking sun or something. (She's ashamed to say she does to). 

The song ends and the surrounding crowd claps, some couples moving forward to dance to the next song while Octavia motions for a drink and her brother nods. She goes to collect them at the other end of the house and Bellamy collapses onto a chair, running his fingers through his hair. Clarke downs a portion of her beer and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she starts to walk towards him. She's quickly stopped in her tracks when a woman sits beside him and offers him her hand to shake. She's tall and brunette with green eyes and tanned skin and Clarke rolls her eyes almost immediately. 

She looks around for Raven, who's chatting with some guy by the stairs. Monty and Monroe make poor attempts at dancing and Octavia wipes the sweat off her forehead with a grin as she picks up two beers in between two fingers on the same hand. Miller flips something on the barbeque and some people cheer (Clarke starts to feel suffocated). She's in a world that she  _ doesn't _ belong to with a team that seems to be settling in just fine. 

So she turns around, swipes a bottle of wine and walks out. She pulls the cork out with her teeth and spits it onto the pavement as she storms down the stairs. The sword bumps against her back and she grunts.

She should never have come to Alexandria. She should have said goodbye and continued on her journey to Virginia. She shouldn't have gotten attached. She should have left the moment they got here. She takes a gulp of the bottle in her hand and her feet pad loudly against the concrete in the silence of an empty road. ( _ 'Do you regret not going to Virginia?'  _ Bellamy asked her once. She'd ignored him because her answer would have been  _ 'yes'. _ ) She should have goddamn walked away, staying here gets her no-where. ( _ 'where are you trying to go?' _ Monty asked. She didn't have a response.) 

"I didn't get a dance." She stops in the road, she doesn't have to turn around to know it's him. She takes another sip of wine and coughs, turning around to face him. 

"I don't dance to reggae." She shrugs sadly. Bellamy crosses his arms and they stand in silence because she's certainly not going to say what she's thinking. He looks at the determination in her eyes, the defensive stand of her body and the bottle of wine in her hand and he purses his lips. Of all the people in their group, he thought she'd be the one to adapt the best. He thought Raven would have a harder time, but Clarke was the worst. She waits for him to say something, anything, she waits quietly and Bellamy shakes his head. He turns around, slowly walking away and runs his fingers through his hair. "You're going back?" She says in mild shock, pointing to the noisy house in the dark road.

And he stops to glare at her, "They need us." He says defensively.

"We can't help them." She assures, "This place shouldn't exist, it's something that belongs in our head, something we'd imagine to make ourselves feel better. It  _ shouldn't  _ exist. And the fact that it does says that we should be running for the  _ fucking _ hills because as long as we're here, we're as good as dead." She swallows with the panic and pure fear in her eyes as she waves her hands in disbelief. She tangles her fingers in the roots of her hair and tears sting her eyes (she's still holding the goddamn wine bottle), "I shouldn't have stayed here." she whispers, "This place is a lie. We can't have this. It doesn't exist. I shouldn't  _ be _ here."

Bellamy doesn't move as the woman before him begins to fall to pieces. She's tired, shattered, broken and hurt. She's lost people, she's lost herself and her soul (she'd argue that she never had much of one anyway). Bellamy can see that she has the world on her shoulder and that she's trying to save everyone. He can see the attachment she's formed to them, she cares and that's a problem (more for her than him). He approaches her carefully, almost as if her were approaching someone on a ledge. He reaches out and his hand wraps around the wine bottle, she lets him take it away from her. 

"This is our life now." He states quietly as his other hand pushes the hair away from her face and behind her ear, ( _ 'oh come on, you stole that move from  _ 10 thing I hate about you _ ' _ Octavia accuses and he rolls his eyes,  _ 'Men could learn a lot from that movie'  _ he assures.) His thumb strokes her cheek with sad shadows in his eyes, "We need to adapt."

And when she looks up it's like the wind had been knocked out of him, like he's been punched in the gut (by one of her wrestler punches). He can see the fear in her eyes, the pure unadulterated fear as her hands shake beside her. She swallows, "I don't know how." She's breaking down and he doesn't think his heart has ever broken more. He pulls her into a hug, her face buried in her chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders with his fingers tangled in her hair. "I don't know how to stop." She cries into his shirt, her sobs quiet and tight and he swallows, tears threatening to spill, "I don't..."

"It's okay." He chokes, pressing a kiss in her hairline, "I'm here, it's okay."

She slips to the ground ( _ 'she was probably being sucked into hell'  _ one of the original members of the community smirks and Monty has to resist the violent urge in his heart.) And Bellamy crouches there with her and they cry into each others hearts.

(He carries her home and sits with his back against the bedroom door like a guard dog the entire night.)

(He's gone when she wakes up)

 

* * *

 

(Later on in the week, Raven sees the way Bellamy looks at Clarke and she grins, nudging Octavia, _ 'They're sleeping together'  _ she agrees and the Blake rolls her eyes, _ 'I thought it was none of our business?' _ She raises an eyebrow.)

(Monty rolls his eyes,  _ 'they're not getting married'. _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to drop me a message of any kind  
> literally  
> anything


	3. Chapter 3

She stands quietly, (not out of choice but out of judgement) in the back of the room, leaning against the door frame with the sword around her back and her shoulder against the wood. The other members sit on chairs with their legs crossed and a table of fruits set out in front of the half moon seating layout. Clarke feels like she's at a fucking PTA meeting in the suburbs, she's half expecting a group of kids to run around the corner complaining about their ponies. There's vague, and tedious chatter of useless topics, ( _ 'they still haven't found a pasta maker!'  _ One man exclaims like it's a legitimate crime); Clarke's jaw tightens as she looks over at Bellamy like she can't believe he dragged her here and he bites back a grin, tapping her thigh as if to tell her to let it go.

He's beside her, on the inside of the room with his shoulders against the wall, both are standing and Clarke gets the impression that she's scaring them a little. ( _ 'You're intimidating'  _ Bellamy shrugs,  _ 'You don't take anyone's bullshit and you look like 20 different kinds of rage.' _ he looks up from the car engine he's fixing, _ 'You're unpredictable, and that scares people.'  _ He assures. She swallows, with the permanent look of anger creased in the frown on her face and she leans against the open hood of the car. _ 'People like you?'  _ She asks carefully. He smirks slightly, grease on his cheek and overalls that hang off his body while the wrench twists in his hand, _ 'Sure. When we met, you looked like you could break my neck,' he pauses, '-And then you just looked broken'  _ He shrugs and she cocks her head, _ 'is that why you let me stay?' _ She asks. He just looks at her like he'll never stop and she looks at the ground.)

Alison sits against her desk with her arms crossed and glasses in her hand as she listens carefully to everyone in the room voice necessities and opinions. People want more food, specific food because they're getting bored, ( _ 'bored? Those motherfuckers should feel lucky to be.'  _ Octavia snaps.) There's mention of useless topics and necessities for the community, if that dickhead brings up his pasta maker  _ one _ more time, Clarke is going to fly off the rails, ( _ 'this is you sane?  _ Bellamy scoffs.) 

There's discussions of topics such as food, new members, more water, more vegetables to grow, ( _ 'you can't grown vegetables you don't have!' _ Monroe yells loudly, like Maya did a million times before, and Clarke doesn't argue when the other woman gets tears in her eyes.) By the end of the meeting, Alison has formed a list of new items and hands it to the blond, who accepts it slowly- but doesn't say anything because she's  _ trying _ to adapt. 

Alison holds Clarke back at the end of the meeting, "Miss Griffin, could I have a word?" and Bellamy looks at her, a raised eyebrow. “Just Miss griffin on this one Mr Blake.” and Bellamy places his hand on her wrist like he's asking if she's going to be okay, and she turns to him and nods with a tight smile, so he lets go and leaves. Alison watches their exchange with intrigue and walks around the other side of her desk, "Since when are you two sleeping together?" She asks carefully, pointing between the blond and the now closed door.

Clarke doesn't miss a beat, "I swear to god if this is about that fucking pasta maker-" 

"It's not." Alison assures, adjusting the glasses on her face. "We have a problem.” she adds carefully. (Raven cocks her head,  _ ‘do you think she actually needs the glasses or-’  _ Clarke interrupts  _ ‘shut up, no-one wear glasses for fun this isn’t a james bond movie.’ _ )

The blond frowns, crossing her arms and wrinkling her nose of the layer of dirt that she can still somehow feel over it. “Shouldn’t Bellamy be here?” she asks almost immediately, feeling naked without him beside her to confer with. 

Which is funny, because she doesn’t actually need to confer with him, he just  _ knows.  _ He can tell what she’s asking by the way she arches her eyebrow or the way she taps his arm and points to something. She can tell what he’s thinking when he purses his lips or when he nudges her thigh and they don’t need to discuss things beyond monosyllabic sentences and sometimes even hums of agreement.

Alison doesn’t hesitate when she says; “Why; can’t you make decisions alone?”

Clarke nearly chokes on her breath when she hears that. Her eyes go wide, the kind of wide Raven’s only seen when she’s  _ furious.  _ ( _ ‘you’ve got that look’  _ she said once and clarke’s nostrils had flared as she tried her absolute best to remain calm and say  _ ‘what look?’ _ It had been just after they’d run into some looters along their way and one of them had tried to slit Monty’s throat like he was pice of meat on a chopping board. (he has a scar on his neck). Bellamy had never seen clarke so  _ angry.  _ Reyes rolls her eyes,  _ ‘like you need to hurt someone until they bleed from everywhere’.  _ Clarke does a good job of controlling it until nightfall when she says she’s going for a walk (no-one bats an eyelid because it’s fucking clarke) and doesn’t return until sunrise. There’s blood in the crevices of her face that she tried her hardest to wash off and stains on her shirt that seem fresh- too fresh to be her own blood.)

(Monty doesn’t talk about that day but the way he looks at Clarke says it all).

The blond cocks her head in an attempt to control her body because she’s literally paralysed in pure fury,  _ how fucking-  _ “Excuse me?” she interrupts her own train of thought because  _ jesus christ _ if it gets too far she’s going to fuck it up for her entire group and she can’t do that to them.

Alison shrugs, “If you need Bellamy then you’re clearly not the right person to have this conversation with.”

“Talk to me like that again and-”

“You’ll what?”

_ No.  _ do  _ not  _ go there.

Clarke sucks in a sharp breath, standing straighter and biting her fucking tongue. She swallows, “I am not the diplomat. That’s Bellamy’s job. So if a decision needs to be made, he needs to be here.” She pauses When she sees no change in the look on Alison’s face. The blond purses her lips, “But you already knew that.”

Alison sits back in her seat with a pen between her fingers and a frown on her face. “He’s clouding your judgement.” she points out.

The blond pauses, staring back at the woman who took them in- she doesn’t quite trust her yet. ( _ ‘you don’t trust anyone.’  _ bellamy mentions and she shrugs,  _ ‘i trust you don’t i?’  _ she points out. He’s too busy staring at her to formulate a response before she’s already walking away.)  _ Is  _ he clouding her judgement? She supposes she's never made a decision without him, nor has he without her. She doesn't quite remember a time they didn't meet to discuss the next course of action but is that necessarily a bad thing? He knows how to keep them safe, where to go and how to look after people and Clarke knows how to kill, how to fight and they're both fiercely loyal. 

She zigs, he zags. He makes a motion with one hand and clarke’s the only one who knows what he means. He makes her kind, considerate and even empathetic- she fucking cares about these people and that’s pretty much all because of him.

_ He’s clouding your judgement. _

Clarke shakes her head, “My judgement is razor sharp just like the fucking sword that would be pressed against your neck right now for ever doubting me.”

Alison cocks her head, “You’re right.” she says finally, sitting back in her chair, “You really aren’t a diplomat.”

Bellamy waits for her outside, sitting against the banister with his arms crossed as his eyes scan the road where the trees shade the children as they play with their bikes. He glances up when the door shuts softly behind her and the look in her eyes tells him she's fine- but she's a  _ really  _ good liar so he's wary of anything he sees in her. 

She sinks down to the step beside him, stretching her legs out and resting her hands in her lap as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath of what seems like the freshest breath she’s ever taken since this fucking world fell apart. Her knee brushes against his thigh and he wrinkles his nose. “All good?” he asks quietly, watching the sun shine through the trees.

She blinks, staring over the world they now live in. do you trust me? She wants to ask, she wants to demand. Do you  _ trust  _ me? She really,  _ really,  _ wants to ask. But is she ready for the rejection? The awkward silence and eventual response of  _ ‘... kind of’  _ or even just an outright no.

She nods once, “All good.”

 

* * *

 

 

She has until sundown before someone comes looking for her.

She has until sundown before people start to realise what she’s done- that she’s not coming back. She’s on the 495 heading west and she can make it to the pentagon in an hour, tops.

The sun isn’t even that high in the sky but it’s still a hundred fucking degrees and she thinks she might be a puddle of sweat before she even fucking makes it to Arlington. If she drove without stopping, she could make it there before they even realise she’s gone- she’s so fucking close to arlington she can taste it in the air. ( _ ‘i heard the pentagon is still welcoming doctors’  _ Raven mentioned one days after new recruits arrived from up north. Clarke grunts,  _ ‘you say that like i didn’t know already’.  _ And raven’s surprised because she’d thought clarke would have left by now.  _ ‘Can’t make up your mind, huh?’  _ the brunette adds. Clarke narrows her eyes,  _ ‘mind your own reyes, i like you enough.’ _ and Raven smiles,  _ ‘you like me? Does that mean we’re in love? Are we getting married?’  _ she asks, wide eyed and mocking and clarke actually fucking laughs- and Bellamy smiles when he hears her from across the camp.)

(Raven doesn’t mention it again.)

(the pentagon thing, not the marriage thing.)

She has to swerve around abandoned cars and the hoards of walkers and thank god she’s got enough gas- she’s so close. She thinks about their faces- will they think she’s dead? Should she have left them a message? Will they send out search parties and scour the nearby towns? Are they going to miss her or will they replace her? Raven was always a better diplomat than her.

Will they disperse her things and share them amongst themselves?- Octavia really likes one of her T shirts. Or maybe they’ll burn them for her betrayal, throw anything she’s touched into a pile and dump it in the river. Will they hate her? 

She swallows, shaking her head and tightening her hands on the steering wheel. She shouldn’t be thinking about them, she’s doing this for her. She needs to think about herself and what is best for her. The pentagon is calling and she can do good there, save lives and help people who don’t have it like her group does. She realises they’re doing well- there are other people out there that aren’t and she wants to help them.

Or she’s running away.

Will he be angry? She tries not to think about it; to shake her head until thoughts of him dissipate or to hum songs long enough that he doesn’t even enter her mind. Will he come looking for her?  _ Stop.  _ she swallows again, sneering at how pathetic she’s being. She thinks about his face, the way he’ll look surprised and maybe even upset when he gets word she’s alive and well and just didn’t inform him. How he’ll be angry and pissed off that his partner left without a goodbye because she was scared.

She makes it to  _ del ray  _ before she turns the fuck around.

 

* * *

 

 

It's late and dark and the roads are quietly illuminated by the street lamps that highlight the trees. The trees that Clarke  _ assures _ are greener than out there and everyone always brushes her off, even though- deep down- they all agree. There are stars that shine in the distance, she's sure one of them's Ursa major (it's something Bellamy told her once). Her hair is yanked back into a tight pony tail where the tips of the blond strands are still clumped in warm water that dries in the exposed air of the night. Her elbows sit on her knees and her chin in a hand as she look across the street at the other suburban house where the paint is chipping at the edges.

She taps her foot lightly against the wooden porch steps with a mug between her fingers where wisps of steam twirl into the air. She blows on the dark murky liquid and takes a sip under the soft illuminations of the dying candles that burn out to provide her with a view of everything she's trying  _ not _ to hate. The mug burns the tip of her fingers and she places it down beside her while the sword remains inside, (she's trying not to wear it too much, especially not when when Bellamy's around).

Clarke's house is empty (-ish, but she'll get to  _ him _ in a second). Raven is at Wick's ( _ 'How can you tell if it's serious?' _ The blond asks out of the blue. She's never usually this curious, and when Raven frowns it says she's noticed too. She shrugs, _ 'It depends.'  _ When Clarke doesn't press any further, Raven continues.  _ 'Sometimes you know right away. Like it's this jab in your gut. Other times you don't realise until it's too late.' _ She takes a beat, ' _ Why?' _ But the blond let's it go before Raven can ask if it's about Bellamy.) Monty and Miller moved out into their own house, it's smaller than the others but it's just the two of them, and they're happy so Clarke couldn't, nor wouldn't make them stay. 

And then there's Bellamy.

He's over a lot more than he should be, a lot more than she's used too, and a lot more that others have started to notice. ( _ 'I think they're betting on us'  _ he says one day when he sees a careful exchange of cash between Octavia and others before they glance over at the blond woman and the curly haired man. She shrugs and just says,  _ 'yeah, I know.' _ He stares, _ 'Well?' _ He asks. She frowns, _ 'What do you want me to do about it?'  _ She demands, almost angrily. And she's right. There's nothing they can do.)

He sneaks over at night, or during the day (or whenever it's empty really). They don't talk much, it's just sex after all. ( _ 'I don't like lying to them'  _ he says quietly as he places a kiss on her hairline. She doesn't reply because that would mean either ending it, or admitting it- and she's not ready for either outcome.) Sometimes she catches him looking; looking like she’s everything he knows, like she’s the only person he sees. Other times she ignores it because she’s not ready to address what that means.

Alison's was right, it’s beginning to cloud her judgement.

The door creaks open behind her and the little hairs on the back of her neck don’t hesitate to shiver up her spine. He shuts it carefully behind him, “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, knowing the answer already as he steps down to sit beside her. She notices the knife in his boot and she almost smiles because she thought he’d adapted too much to this lifestyle.

She frowns at him and opens her mouth, “Are those my jeans?” she asks slowly.

He looks down (he’s  _ not  _ wearing a shirt by the way and she’s trying her best not to get distracted.)  _ ‘You’re staring’  _ he says with a smirk and she frowns,  _ ‘where’d you get those scars?’  _ she asks carefully. He brushes her off because he’s not quite ready to relive them.) “It was too dark, I couldn’t tell what I was picking up.” he explains, “But look at my butt.” he mentions as a way to lighten the mood because she’s got that look, and it’s not a good look.

She doesn't say anything as she takes a sip of her coffee once again and looks into the dark. She should do it, rip the band aid off, stop everything that is happening. ( _ 'What makes you think I'm worth all of this?'  _ She asks when one day he comes over and cooks her dinner because she hasn't eaten all day. He just frowns, _ 'what makes you think you're not?'  _ He asks, and she's pretty sure he does it to be a dick because when she has nothing to say he just smirks.)

“I…” she starts quietly before she sits straighter, trying to find her voice, “I think you should go home.”

He looks up at her with confusion etched across his face and cocks his head, “What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a bit of a bagel she hadn’t even noticed was in his hand.

She shakes her head, “Nothing wrong I-”

“You’re a shitty liar.” he interrupts as his eyes trails over the street lamps like he’s never seen them before.

"I'm not lying." She snaps back immediately. She sighs, closing her eyes and holding two fingers to her temple, “I just think… this should-” she pauses, letting out a breath, “ _ Stop. _ ”

"I disagree" He comments. And she gives him a look that says  _ 'fucking bite me' _ while he grins at her like he's won a million bucks. She doesn't reply because she doesn't think she has the strength to, nor the desire to. He points to her coffee and she shakes her head, even though she’s only had two sips. ( _ 'I don't think I've ever seen you eat' _ he says out of the blue and she rolls her eyes, _ 'That's because I drink everything I need' _ she says, pulling out a flask from her back pocket. _ 'You're an alcoholic'  _ he mutters and Clarke smirks,  _ 'And you've got a savior complex' _ she adds. He doesn't reply because maybe he does, or maybe he just cares about her.) 

"I can't-" she starts and then cuts herself off, grunting like she’s forcing the courage up through her body, “I can’t do this anymore.” she says, a little too harshly. ( _ ‘your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired’  _ he mentions and she throws a slipper in his direction,  _ ‘suck my dick’  _ she replies back- she doesn’t need any bedside manner.)

Bellamy doesn't say anything quite yet because he knows why. He knows that she's getting too close, too scared, too emotionally attached, he knows that whatever they are  _ can't _ be more than sex and the moment it becomes a little too familiar is the moment she needs to bolt. That moment for her was a while ago.

He yawns like it’s any other night, cricking his neck and he opens his mouth, the words coming out slowly and carefully, "You have fought walkers. You have fought men and women twice your size with bigger weapons than your two fists. You have saved the lives of people who didn't think they deserved it and you gave them a reason to live. You led a group to a home.” he swallows, “But is it ever about you?” he asks, looking her in the eyes like he already knows the answer, “if you keep sacrificing yourself for everyone, there won't be any of you left. And for everything you’ve done for others, you deserve something for yourself." He shrugs, “You deserve to be happy.” he adds, ripping a piece of bagel with his teeth like he hasn't just said that.

"And you're my happy?" She asks gravely, looking at him with wide eyes of confusion and sarcasm, like she doesn't quite believe he'd be so dumb as to root his happiness in someone-  _ anyone _ \- else, especially not her.

He purses his lips, "Well, you're mine." He replies, and her heart catches in her throat.

She swallows and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield. ( _ 'You know, you're very defensive'  _ Raven points out and when the blond snaps a  _ 'fuck off'  _ Reyes knows she's right.) She avoids his eyes, because fucking anybody would and she rests her elbows on her knees, interlacing her fingers and watching her thumbs brush each other. She doesn’t know what to say- ( _ 'I think you know exactly what you want to do' _ he told her once and she glares at him because he's  _ right _ and she hates that.  _ 'I think you're scared'  _ he adds and she takes a sip of whatever alcohol is in front of her and sneers,  _ 'Fuck you Bellamy, you don't scare me.'  _ But when he stares at her with wild eyes and her heart catches in her throat- he smirks because she's fucking terrified.)

So she doesn't say anything. (Because what the fuck is she supposed to say?)

They don’t move, like they’re stuck in time- stuck in the motionless parameters of their relationship, stuck in their own head because overthinking leads to insanity and _ for fucks sake _ will someone say something?

"Fuck you." She suddenly blurts.

He frowns and looks over at her with a piece of bagel halfway to his mouth, "Excuse me?" Not that he's offended, she's sworn at him plenty of times. ( _ 'That girl needs to wash her mouth out with soap' _ one of the men in the town says with a disgusted look on his face, but Bellamy just shakes his head, _ 'She can do whatever the fuck she wants' _ )

She takes a beat, “Fuck you.” she repeats, "You don't get to do this to me." She snaps angrily, glaring at him as if he's spoken to her like she’s a child, like she’s incapable of seeing through his bullshit and the hidden meanings. She says it like she’s arguing with someone who doesn’t understand the way the world works, like she’s gracing him with the knowledge of their harsh existence.

"Do what?" He frowns but she's already stood up with her fingers fisted in her hair and a wild look in her eyes like she's been waiting to say this since they met, like she’s buried it down so deep that it's all just come rushing out like a flood.

"You don't get to make me feel like this.” she says, rather calm for someone who does not look it.  “Like it’s some great betrayal for me to want to continue on my journey. Like i’m giving up on you by leaving because i  _ tried… _ ” she trails off, swallowing and avoiding his eyes. “I drove all the way to Del ray; I was  _ twenty  _ minutes out and I had  _ hours  _ before any of you realised I was gone. It was the perfect escape, no goodbyes, no guilt, none of that look in your eyes like I was doing something wrong and I just… I was  _ on _ the 1, it was a straight fucking line to the pentagon and I couldn’t do it.” she cuts herself off, the cogs whirring in her brain to find the words to adequately portray her irritation. She swallows, “I don't think I can leave you.” she admits in a sudden turn of events, and her eyes tell him she’s not lying. “So fuck you because I don’t even think you realise that.” she says- not at the top of her voice, but from the bottom of her heart. Beneath the walls she's become so good and building and all the other feelings she's not good at keeping.  “It was a straight fucking line Bellamy.” she reminds, almost angrily, “And I chose to turn the fuck around.”

He stares- he’s so surprised he’s stopped chewing his bagel, “What?” he breathes carefully, like he doesn’t quite believe what he heard.

Slowly but surely, the words that spilled out of her mouth in the heat of her heart are registering in her mind and she wants to curl up into a ball and let the earth swallow her whole. She holds the beam for support, slowly resting her forehead against it and she closes her eyes, letting out a loud sigh.Her hands are shaking. Her arms are shaking. Her whole body is shaking, like she’s a china doll in an earthquake. She breathes in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. She swallows, fuck,  _ fuck. _

"I'm…” she trails off when her voice cracks. She swallows, softly shaking her head. “Go home Bellamy." She mutters quietly, not moving from her spot, he knows how to read between the lines.

Heis frozen in shock. Not the shock of the outburst but the words but at the depth behind even basic english words that he didn’t think could hold so much meaning to him. How the way her lips moved faster when she was immersed in something, the way her smile sloped when she didn’t quite succeed at hiding everything she was feeling. The bitter laugh that emanated from her throat when she tried to act like everything was fine- when it wasn’t. Nothing was fine. 

"Clarke." He starts slowly, rising to his feet but she shakes her head, turning around but not meeting his eyes.

He can see her shoulders are shaking- ( _ ‘i’m scared of him. Of the way he makes me feel of the things he makes me want, this can’t be normal, this isn’t okay. I can’t be around someone who makes me want the world and more.’  _ she pauses and then scoffs slightly, looking down at the walker she just killed,  _ ‘what would you know, huh?’ _ ) “leave me alone.” she says strongly, storming into the house and slamming the door behind her- he’s in too much shock to flinch.

And Bellamy stands there for a few moments because  _ what the fuck just happened? _

(He doesn’t notice Octavia when he goes home but she’s sitting in their living room with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other,  _ ‘the next time you two decide to have a domestic, take it inside yeah?’  _ she reminds bluntly and when his reply is a stiff  _ ‘you won’t have to worry about that anymore’  _ she offers him the wine glass because something clearly went wrong.)

(he drinks straight from the bottle, and in that moment Octavia realises he’s more like Clarke than he wants to admit.)

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m staying out of it.” Octavia says the moment Clarke opens her front door.

It’s been three days, or is it four? The blond doesn’t quite remember because all of it’s become a blur of sleepless night and empty wine bottles. (it’s the fucking apocalypse, where are they getting this shit from?) she ruffles her hair with a frown on her face as she drags the sunglasses over her eyes and yawns, “What are you talking about?” she asks tiredly stepping out of her house with the sword over her back and the leather jacket over her shoulders (even though it's 100 fucking degrees out there.)

Octavia follows Clarke down the steps with an apple swapping between both hands as a nervous reaction (Clarke’s fucking scary,  _ okay?  _ Have you seen her defend their group? Octavia questioned for a long time if Clarke liked them, or even wanted to be with them. She got the feeling that the blond didn’t really get  _ close  _ to people. But when a member is threatened by anything, Clarke is  _ always  _ the first one to jump to their defence. Whether it’s an accusation or even just a walker, Octavia sees the worry in the way she looks after all of them, despite the fact that she doesn’t express it out loud.) “Whatever’s going on with you and Bellamy.” she explains as they stride down the empty road, ready for a fight. ( _ ‘you can’t be serious?’  _ Raven cried when she heard Clarke was going on her fifth supply run of the week.  _ ‘I’m no use here. I can’t cook, I can’t clean, I don’t like children and walkers don’t question my authority.’  _ Reyes shakes her head,  _ ‘it’s moments like this that Bellamy would call you an idiot and not let you go’ _ Clarke glares,  _ ‘Bellamy doesn’t dictate my fucking life’ _ ) 

“There’s nothing going on.” Clarke replies blandly with such disinterest that Octavia honestly, genuinely nearly believes her even though she  _ knows.  _

The brunette takes a bite of her apple, “Whatever.” she states nonchalantly, chewing like some kind of starving animal, “I’m staying out of it.”

Clarke bites the sarcastic reply on her tongue and ignores the brunette who is clearly  _ not  _ staying out of it as they make their way towards Alison’s house. Octavia follows her through the doors where Bellamy and Alison are already waiting. Raven’s sitting on a chair with her leg bent against her body and her chin on her knee so she can accurately observes what happens since this is the first time they’ve spoken since. Everyone’s so fucking curious, but no one expects the silence.

They make eye contact but don’t greet each other further than a blink. They stand side by side but their eyes are distant and anyone can tell they just don’t know what to say when their hands struggle to find appropriate placement- behind their back? In their pockets? Which one is shaking more?

The room is littered with other members of the community who are here to list requirement, food, clothes, tampons, candles, firewood excetera, excetera. Alison coughs to signify that now is when she begins to speak. She leans against her desk and licks her lips, “Octavia will be taking requests for today’s supply run, talk to her outside after the meeting. We’ve had reports of  significantly more walkers coming this way, so the guard will be doubled for the time being. On another note, stay away from the south wall, Miller and Raven will be solidifying its defences.” she nods, “Clarke, Bellamy, is there anything you’d like to add?”

The blond looks dead behind those blue eyes of hers and her hair is as lifeless as she feels. She blinks heavily, “No.”

Bellamy feels the way she looks. Limp and tired and dead behind the eyes like someone’s torn the life out of him. He tries not to look at her, glancing at his feet and scratching his head, “Just that I will be holding another training sessions tomorrow.”

“Okay that’s it, remember, Octavia will be outside.” Alison reiterates as the community slowly begins to move out of the small office room that becomes the town meeting room once a week. Clarke is the only one left behind, frozen in her position and Alison notice, pushing the glasses up her nose and crossing her arms, “Yes, Miss Griffin?” she asks, aware of the few stragglers that seem to be walking rather slowly and within earshot.

The blond ignores them, carefully turning her head to look in alison’s direction but not directly at her. She wrinkles her nose, “It was clouding my judgement.” she says with not distinct emotion in her voice.

Alison looks outside to where Bellamy is standing with his sister and purses her lips, turning back to the blond. She crosses her arms, “Is your judgment clear now?” she asks.

Clarke takes a deep breath, still looking into mid air and swallows tightly. Her whole body is shaking but she’s not attributing that to the alcohol nor the lack of a meal- she’ll say it's fear. She shakes her head, “No.”

The other woman pauses, watching Clarke. The blond looks small and broken and tired, like when Bellamy first found her but this time she looks vulnerable- like if a walker came at her she wouldn’t even try to stop it and alison realises her mistake. She swallows, “I’m sorry.” she says eventually, realising that her advice may not have been worth even passing through her lips.

Clarke swallows, a sneer making it’s way onto her face to battle the tears she hasn’t cried, “Fuck you Alison.” she sniffs quickly, “It was none of your fucking business you had no reason to get involved you-...” she cuts herself off to suck in sharp breath- what is  _ happening  _ to her?

“I’m sorry.” Alison repeats.

She shakes her head, “Fuck you.” She spits again.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know in the comments below or kudos or don't  
> (but if you don't i won't know what you think)  
> (and i'd love to know)


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